by S.M. Winter
I had decided to find the book and curl up somewhere before sleeping with my remaining energy.
“Wait,” I called before she could leave. “I have a question.”
Valerie turned and nodded for me to continue.
“Why are you here?” I asked. “If the theme I am picking up around why the universe picks us then you had to choose didn’t you? Between life and death.”
“Yes,” her face sobered at the reminder. “It’s not a pretty story.”
“I would like to hear it, if that’s ok,” I persisted.
There had to be something in these characters back stories to give me a clue to my escape, no matter how small.
“If you’re sure,” Valerie stepped back into the room and sat in the chair near the fire, staring into the flames. Then she patted the chair across from her. I followed her direction and sat.
“I know you are struggling with your acceptance of your new world,” she said. “So that is why I’m going to tell you my story. It may bring you some perspective to yours. It’s an old wound and I’m not fond of exposing it. Are you sure it will help?”
“I think it will,” I nodded lightly in encouragement.
“In my former life I was a psychiatrist,” she said.
“A noble profession,” I commented.
She smiled and chuckled, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes.
“I used to think so,” she continued. “I was straight out of college. Fresh faced and naive. I was barely twenty-two. I wanted to save the world with my compassion. So I joined a small free health clinic in the inner city. It was such fulfilling work for a time. I could tell when I was helping people. I specialized in child psychiatry, so I worked with mostly children. Quickly the work started to become overwhelming. There were so many children that came through the clinic and some began to slip through the cracks. I just couldn’t keep up. On most cases I just began calling Social Services over to have them take some of the pressure off. I went in one day to put in my notice. The work was killing me and I needed out.”
Valerie took a deep breath. I leaned forward and patted her knee to show comfort. She smiled back at me.
“I went in and right away I knew something was wrong,” she said and her eyes seemed to glaze over. “I’d entered through the back door, which was my normal entry. The lobby was empty and no one was at the front desk. For as long as I could remember there was always someone in that clinic. It was never empty. Before I could turn to leave, someone came up behind me and hit me in the back of the head.”
Valerie swallowed hard as she continued.
“When I came to, he was on top of me,” she said. “He had dragged me to my office and was ripping at my clothes. I froze. He was yelling at me about taking away his daughter. How he was going to give me what I deserved for making his wife leave him and sending his daughter into the system. It wasn’t until he was pushing himself into me that I began fighting and screaming. After he finished, I curled into a ball and sobbed for I don’t know how long. I found out later that he’d called in a bomb threat, and in the amount of time that it took the clinic to clear out and the police to get there he’d been able to hide and ambush me, unaware of the situation.”
I stared in shock.
“The guilt was crushing,” she described. “That was the worst part. I went over that day over and over again. I’d had to look up the daughter’s case file to even remember her name. He’d only said her first name, and I just couldn’t remember the case. It took me a long time to come to terms with what happened. I struggled deeply with depression and even admitted myself into a psych ward. It took two years and a ton of therapy for me to finally accept what happened. That there wasn’t anything I could have done to prevent it. I never forgave him, but I finally forgave myself. It hurt, but I was ready to move on. I was ready to live again. That was my choice.”
“I’m so sorry,” I wiped at the tears that coursed unchecked down my face. “I had no idea.”
“Of course not,” she gave a watery laugh. “Why would you? I worked very hard to make sure I don’t look like a victim. I am a survivor.”
“Well you did an incredible job, you’re gorgeous.”
A surprised and genuine laugh escaped Valerie. It seemed to startle her.
“Now you know my deep, dark secret,” she said. “You’ll have to share yours some time.”
Standing she walked toward the door and this time I didn’t stop her. Before she made her exit, she turned and looked back at me.
“I’ve found that even in the darkest of places,” she said quietly. “There is always a way to find the light. Even if you have to create it yourself.”
To punctuate the point she held out her hand and held a tiny ball of fire. Then in a blink it was gone and so was she.
Standing on wobbly legs, I left the music room to find my way back the library. I needed to do some research.
It took over an hour to locate the one legitimate book from the index cards. Thankfully there was more than one reading space in the library so when I did find it, I didn’t have too far to walk to curl up in a nice comfy chair next to a fire. I wondered idly who tended the large number of fires I’d seen in my short time there. Shrugging off the thought, I opened the book and began reading. I was tired enough that I fell asleep soon after the first page.
My dreams always took me to exotic places I’d never thought to visit. I had been so focused on school to earn my education and then my job that it was impossible to justify such an expense. Currently I was on a white sandy beach where I lay in the sun, stretched naked on a large light colored blanket. Next to me, Alexandar lay, looking at me with a light I couldn’t fathom. It spoke of deep connection and an affection I’d never known. When he smiled I smiled back.
A cloud crossed the sun and blocked the light. I didn’t think anything about it until the wind picked up and the warmth I’d felt moments ago disappeared. I looked off towards where the sun had been and a dark void now occupied the space. It was a living thing, this darkness. I looked back to where Alexandar had been and found the space empty. Terrified, I rose and began to run as pelting rain slammed into the beach. The waves crashed violently on the beach, ripping at my legs as I ran through the surf. I stumbled and fell as a wall of water washed over me. Struggling to breathe, the salt claimed my lungs for their own. Sputtering, I clawed at the sand attempting to find purchase. The water was relentless, the earth sucked at my body to keep it from moving, the warmth and security of the sun had abandoned me. I was alone and I was going to die.
Bolting upright, I dropped the book from my lap and gasped for air. I coughed up salt water and sputtered. A blanket was dropped around me and I shuddered at the sudden warmth. I was soaked to the bone and so cold it hurt. My lungs screamed with the new influx of air like I’d stuck a hot poker down my throat to burn them. I fell to the floor but was scooped up and brought next to the fire. The warmth was too much and I struggled lightly while someone rubbed my arms. Slowly, as my teeth chattering and body shaking subsided, I realized that someone was whispering to me. It was another language but it sounded familiar somehow. I couldn’t place the dialect.
Looking up I saw that it was Alexandar. His eyes were closed and he seemed to be shaking as well, though not from the cold that I so obviously felt. He kept repeating the same phrase over and over.
“Ormsa an locht, is mise is ciontach leis,” he said. “Ormsa an locht, is mise is ciontach leis.”
“What does that mean?” I wondered aloud as my shaking and chill halted altogether.
Startled, his eyes popped open. When he looked at me it seemed as if time itself stopped. I couldn’t hear the crackle of the fire behind me anymore. All I could see was his eyes. In them lived regret and desperation. He pulled me close and hugged me tight to his body. It was then that I realized his hair was wet.
“How did we get wet?” I asked but before I could seek an answer his lips covered mine and all thought of what had just happened slipped away.
His lips were rough and demanding. It was all I could do to answer their searching. Electricity shot through my body and I struggled to free my arms from the constricting blanket. He pulled back lightly and set his forehead on mine. I attempted to restart the kiss but was unable to maneuver around my confinement. His breaths came in raspy spasms as if he’d just run several miles without water. The way my body was straining and shuddering I could understand his heavy breathing, especially if he was trying to resist the pull that I felt. It was strong and undeniable.
“I can’t,” he dropped me from his lap suddenly and walked several feet away to give himself space. I wriggled out of the blanket but did not leave the comforting warmth of the fire behind me. My clothes still clung to my body as if I’d jumped into a lake fully clothed. I watched Alexandar warily as he paced the small length of the reading area, mumbling to himself.
“You couldn’t have slept in your room,” he said under his breath. “You had to fall asleep in the one place that isn’t protected. Why couldn’t you be normal? Why do you feel safe around books?”
“What were you saying earlier?” I asked.
“What?” He paused his pacing, seeming to realize I was still there.
“What does ‘Ormsa an locht, is mise is ciontach leis’,” I repeated the phrase back to him. “Mean?”
“What?” He seemed embarrassed.
“Roughly translated
